


Permutations

by Maia



Series: Gifts [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dream Sequence, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Post-Chosen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-13
Updated: 2006-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maia/pseuds/Maia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Permutations" takes place in the Gifts-verse, where Spike was resurrected as a human after dying in "Chosen" in 2003, went back to the name William, and did not contact any of the Scoobies.</p><p>(Gifts-verse goes AU after "Chosen" so the 5th season of <i>Angel</i> never happened.)</p><p>"Permutations" takes place in June 2008, when Dawn accidentally meets William-formerly Spike in New York City.  She had thought he was dead since 2003; now she finds that he's alive and human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Tuesday, June 10, 2008**

 

"I still don't understand why you didn't contact me." She felt her anger rising again as she said the words. Five years, five YEARS she had spent thinking that he was dead, killed spending his soul to close the Hellmouth forever and save the world. She'd spent five years mourning him, five years missing him. Spike. Her friend. Her brother - he felt like her brother - she thought of him as her older brother. The only adult who hadn't abandoned her either emotionally or physically - until his death. And how could she blame him for abandoning her by dying? (Though she did, of course.) How could she blame him for saving the world but leaving her? (Though she did, of course.) She'd grieved and raged and cried and finally accepted, mostly. She'd mourned him and missed him and let him go, some. Maybe. Partly. She'd written letters to him, a whole stack locked in her most private drawer. She'd read poetry every night, because of him. She'd listened to music she would never have listened to on her own, because of him. Sometimes she'd talked to him, sometimes, when no one else was around. She'd imagined him there, witnessing her tribulations and her triumphs. She'd held him in her heart, always. She'd missed him so much.

And now here he was. Alive. Really alive. He was human now. He had been human now for five years. And he hadn't told her. Hadn't contacted her. Had left her to mourn him. Had left her alone when he could have been there.

Right now, she hated him.

No, she didn't hate him. She wanted to hate him. But she couldn't. It was hard to hate someone who was crying and saying "I'm sorry, Niblet" (how she had missed hearing him call her that) over and over and over again. "I'm sorry, Niblet. I'm so sorry," he kept saying. And how could she hate him when she was so happy to see him alive?

But she was angry. She was furious. Even knowing he was alive was an accident. She'd been wandering around Manhattan like the hick she was, probably with "I'm a tourist, mug me" practically written on her face. She hadn't been mugged, but she had tripped while gazing up at the skyline towards the Empire State Building (how cliche was that? And shouldn't an ancient Key have more sense?) and gone sprawling on the sidewalk, and next thing she knew an oddly familiar voice was asking, "Miss, are you alright?" and an oddly familiar hand was helping her up, and then she saw his face. Spike's face, only it wasn't, because the hair was different, and he looked a little older, and the hand he'd helped her up with was warmer than a vampire's, and when he saw her face the color drained from his, and vampires didn't turn white as ghosts when they were stunned. But the look in his eyes was a look she knew, and his hands had been shaking violently as he held her shoulders and whispered, "Niblet?" and gazed at her face like he thought he was dreaming. And she'd thought she was dreaming, too. And then there had been hugging and crying and then more hugging and more crying.

And then, there were questions. And since they were still standing on a street corner in New York City, Spike had suggested that they go back to his place, where they could talk. And she'd agreed. But as he'd begun leading her through the streets of Manhattan, her mind formed the question: if he had a "place" - if he lived here - how long had he been alive? And with that question a seed of anger was born in her mind. And as they walked along the seed had taken root. He looked different. He looked five years older. His hair was different. His clothes were different. He had been human for a while. He had to have been. Her hands clenched into fists.

She hardly noticed where they were going. He pointed out a few landmarks along the way - the White Horse Tavern "where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death" - he said it like he'd been there - which for all she knew, he had. But right now she didn't care.

She restrained herself until they'd arrived at his building and he'd unlocked the building door and they'd walked up three flights of stairs and he'd unlocked his apartment door and she entered and only vaguely registered the place before she turned on him and asked, "How long? How long have you been back?"

And he closed the door behind them, and then looked down, and said softly, "Five years."

And she had wanted to kill him then. Or hit him. Or maybe run out of the building and never come back. But she hadn't. She'd screamed at him instead. And he'd started crying again, and apologizing over and over and over again. And then he got down on his knees and begged her forgiveness. That was Spike. Always the Drama King. Except the emotion behind his dramatic gestures was always sincere. Made it difficult to hate him.

She was angry. She was really angry. But, okay, maybe there was an explanation.

And she wasn't a child anymore. She was 22. (Or 8, if you counted from when the monks had made her. Or thousands of years old, if you counted her days as a blob of energy.) And a college graduate, as of last month. And she'd had some therapy, and dealt with her abandonment issues. Mostly. And she was going to journalism school soon. And the nascent reporter in her was whispering that this must be a damn good story. He was HUMAN. He was ALIVE. That was supposed to be impossible, wasn't it?

"Okay, Spike," she said. "Tell me the story. All of it." She would put her anger aside, and listen.

He got up off his knees - thank god - and looked at her, and there was a quiet dignity in his voice as he said, "Dawn, please call me William. Or Will."

"Is that what you go by, now?"

"Yes."

"Okay. William."

"It's a long story. Would you like some tea?"

"Okay. Sure." She followed Spike - William - into the kitchen, looking around at the apartment for the first time as she did. It was nice. It was really nice. Old-fashioned, she thought - that was odd - or was it, since Spike had grown up in the 19th century? Modern stuff too, of course - including a great-looking stereo system. Big tv (she wondered if he still watched soap operas every day). Laptop computer. But it felt old-fashioned. Lots of bookshelves, lots of books. Furniture that looked antique. Secretary desk that looked at least a century old. The kitchen was beautiful, and the late-afternoon sunlight (how weird was that?) was streaming in the windows. There was a shelf by the window with a basket on it, and two kittens asleep in it, curled up around each other. Somehow it didn't surprise her that Spi - William - had cats. "What are their names?" she asked.

"The black one is Christina and the grey one is Dante."

"As in the Rossettis?"

He looked surprised (why, when he was the one who'd gotten her to start reading poetry?) and then smiled shyly. "Yeah. They're brother and sister. Their mum was a stray. Got hit by a car." He looked sad.

"They look really young."

"Yeah, they're about four months, I think. Don't know for sure. There's another cat, I inherited him from, well - that's part of the story - but he's older - seven years old - his name's Merlin - he's probably asleep in Rosemary's - he misses her - " he stopped, seeing the look on her face, and hastily explained, "Rosemary was - she was a lady, an old lady. Helped me out when I first...was human again. Like a mum to me. Left me this place. Merlin was her cat. I promised her I'd take care of him..." he trailed off, looking down, awkward and embarrassed.

"She died?" Dawn asked gently.

"Yeah. About a year ago. Cancer." His eyes filled with tears again. Then he shook himself back to the present. "What kind of tea you fancy, Bit?"

"Do you have Earl Grey?"

"Of course. And - sit down." She sat.

_This is so weird. He's so different._ "You're so different," she blurted out.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "I'm still the same person, Niblet. Just plus a heartbeat and minus a demon."

"Your demon is gone?" _Dumb, dumb question. Of **course** his demon was gone!_

He gave a tight smile. "Either that or my testosterone level fell to a tiny fraction of what it was. Or maybe both."

She thought of various psychology classes she'd taken and found herself chuckling. "They should do a study of testosterone and vampires."

He flinched almost imperceptibly. Oh, god, she'd forgotten about the Initiative. They probably had done just that. He'd never told her exactly what he'd been through there, but she'd always sensed it was far worse than the others imagined. This was probably not a good time to bring it up. She tried to change the subject.

"So - do you have a job?"

"Yeah. I'm a chef."

"A what?"

"A chef." He seemed very busy making tea. "Milk and sugar?"

"Milk, please." He opened the fridge. No blood. Lots of vegetables. Weird.

"Where do you work?"

"Little vegetarian restaurant round the corner." He put a mug in front of her. "What about you?"

"I'm starting at the Columbia School of Journalism in August."

His eyes lit up and he broke into a grin. "That's wonderful, Niblet! Good for you!"

"Yeah." She wasn't ready to tell him about her life yet. Wasn't ready to forgive. "Now tell me the story." She took a sip of the tea.

He took a deep breath, then a sip of his own tea, then another deep breath, and began.

 

 

 

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William tells Dawn about becoming human again and the past five years of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _With deep gratitude to Beta Readers (Livejournal names) d_aulnoy, geekette8, and katlinel, and Medical Consultant ithilwen. For all of your advice, excellent suggestions, encouragement and support: Thank you._
> 
>  
> 
> "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver is quoted in full here: http://green-maia.livejournal.com/5615.html
> 
>  
> 
> "When Death Comes" by Mary Oliver is quoted in full here: http://green-maia.livejournal.com/3139.html and also on my livejournal profile page: http://green-maia.livejournal.com/profile.

**Tuesday, June 10, 2008**

 

"I..." He looked down at the floor. There was silence for a few minutes. Then he went on, still looking at the floor, "I remember dying. I remember burning up. It seemed to go on forever." He swallowed. "Then the agony stopped. My body was gone. And then...it was...I don't think I can put it into words. It was..." He trailed off.

"Was it different from the first time you died?" she asked after another little silence.

He shook himself. "What? Oh. Yeah. Completely different. The first time, when I became a vampire, you know, it was more like losing consciousness and then waking up again. It was bloody fantastic. But this - it was more than that. Becoming a vampire was like becoming someone else. When I was a child I used to wish I could become a character in a story: go to sleep William the bloody crybaby and wake up a Knight of the Round Table. Becoming a vampire felt like that wish come true. It felt like stepping into a story and leaving the real world behind.

"But deep down – I would never have admitted it, ever – deep down it felt illusory. Hollow. I mean, when you get lost in a good story, you're losing yourself, but in a way you're _more_ you instead of less, you know? But being a soulless vampire was...it was...less." He paused. "God, I sound like a bloody..." He flushed a little - she'd never seen that before – and stopped, biting his lip.

She decided not to rescue him with another question. Instead she just sipped her tea and waited.

He continued, "When I died the second time, it was nothing like that." He looked up at her. "You know what they say about your life passing in front of your eyes?"

She nodded.

He looked back down at the floor. "The first time that didn't happen. The second time, it did. The pain was... And then it was gone and I saw my life - my life and my un-life - all of it. And then, it ended, and it was as though I was...free. And everything was okay, and peaceful, and..."

She struggled to keep her voice steady. "Were you in heaven?"

"I don't know."

"But you sound like what - like what Buffy said. About heaven."

He looked up. "What did she tell you, exactly?"

"She said she felt peaceful. And complete. And loved. And that she was still herself. And she knew everyone she loved was okay. What - what did she tell you?"

He looked down again. "Same thing."

"Was that what it was like? For you?" She'd taken refuge in that thought, when he was dead. But now that he was here again...

She thought of the yearning in Buffy's eyes. She didn't think she could bear it in both of them. But Spi - William - didn't have the aura of despair that had clung to Buffy that first year. Had he, when he first came back?

There was another silence. Finally he said, still looking down, "Sort of...yes...in a way. For a moment...or eternity, I don't know...I felt...like that. Everything was okay, everyone was okay, I was at peace, I was...complete. But then...it was as though...I...dissolved. Buffy said she was still herself. I wasn't. I mean, I was...but I wasn't."

His voice filled with awe as he spoke. "It was like dissolving and becoming...everything. I didn't exist. I was just part of...everything. I just was...the universe...every atom...every life...everything just _was_...it was...there's no words..."

He looked up then, and his eyes were shining with wonder.

She felt it too, vicariously, for a moment. And then it was replaced by a sick feeling of deja vu.

He saw it, and he was with her, again. "Hey. Hey, Niblet. It's not like that. It's not like that at all. What I experienced was amazing. But remembering it makes me like being alive more, not less." He got up and went over to her and put his arms around her. She let him hold her for a moment. Then she pulled away.

He went back to his chair and sat down. "I'm not sure it was heaven, anyway, at least not the way the Sunday school teachers think of it. I wonder if it wasn't just how I felt at the moment of my death. Eternity is timeless, y'know? Eternity in a moment, yeah? Maybe that _is_ heaven - one eternal moment. Maybe it's just the glimpse you get before oblivion. I don't know. Or maybe – maybe it had something to do with how I died. With the amulet. I don't know.

"But whatever it was, once I was alive again, it didn't make me wish to be dead again. God, I sound like such a bloody idiot. But no way round that." He took another deep breath. "Having experienced that - whatever it was - made me - when I was alive again, it made glad to be alive, okay?" He withdrew into defensiveness again, scowling into his teacup.

"Then why didn't Buffy want to live?"

He studied his tea for a minute, and then said in a low voice, "I don't know what Buffy experienced. I only know what she told me. I don't know what it felt like, to her. But it seems like...the thing that was good, for her, was that she was dead. That she wasn't alive anymore. That there wasn't any pain. That everything she had gone through was over. It wasn't about the experience itself."

Her college journalism instinct to sum it all up took over. "So basically, for her, heaven was not being alive, for you, heaven was a glimpse of something that made being alive seem even better than before?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

"Okay, then. You still haven't told me how you got to be alive again."

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know. All I know is that one moment I was one with the entire bloody universe and the next moment I was lying in an alley in London. With a heartbeat."

She stared at him. "So you have no idea how it happened?"

"None."

Damn. THAT was annoying. But if he didn't know, he didn't know. "Okay. So tell me what happened next."

He looked back down at the floor. He didn't say anything for a while. The sounds of the street drifted in through the open window - cars, voices, birds (which she hadn't expected in the city), and the occasional airplane overhead. She waited.

Finally he continued. "I found myself lying in an alley with a bunch of rubbish bins. I had no idea where I was. Or what had happened. I was confused. Disoriented. Felt dizzy and sick. Remembered everything, but all the memories jumbled together and I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. And...I...I...I...didn't have any clothes on." He flushed again. "It was as though...as though my body, and only my body, had been re-created exactly as it was just before I was turned, brought into the 21st century, and my mind and my soul had been dropped into it. I was...terrified. I just lay there shaking for...I don't know how long. My memories... I couldn't make sense of what I remembered, there was just this mess of images and feelings, no rhyme or reason, no meaning. Just...terror."

_Buffy, when she had first returned, standing on the tower, asking "Is this Hell?"_

She wanted to reach over and take his hand, but he seemed to have curled into himself as he spoke, and she thought maybe giving him space would be better.

He seemed almost oblivious to her presence. "I don't know how long it was I stayed there. After a while, as the shock wore off...I tried and tried to make sense of all my memories. Get them into some sort of order. I wondered if maybe my whole life as a vampire had been a dream. But I could hear cars on the street. It was raining, and I was wet, and cold. And hungry, too. Very hungry. When I was turned, I hadn't eaten in a while. Had to find some way to get something to eat. But I couldn't go out in the street in nothing but my birthday suit. So I went through the rubbish bins. Found a few rags someone had thrown out. Put them on. Went out in the street. Wandered around a bit. Got strange looks. Got hungrier. Didn't want to beg. Finally did. Someone gave me 20p. Took it. Bought a bit of bread. Didn't know what to do or where to go. Went to another alley and slept. Spent a few days like that. Scrounging for food. Even tried stealing, but I was so weak and disoriented, I couldn't manage it. Couldn't think straight. Ate out of some rubbish bins, after a while. Crusts of bread. Then I got sick. Throwing-up sick. High fever. Had a 19th-century immune system, yeah? Germs had over a century of evolution on me. Eating out of rubbish bins hadn't helped. Lay there in an alley puking my guts out and shaking with fever. Got delirious. Finally had a lucid moment when I knew I had to get help. Ran out into the street, half-mad. Ran right in front of a car. Got hit."

Dawn had tears streaming down her face. He didn't seem to notice. He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor.

"Next clear memory was weeks later, in hospital. I'd been badly hurt by the car. Lots of broken bones, internal bleeding, concussion. Raging infections. Pneumonia. Nearly died. Got some vague memories..."

"Oh God, Spike...William." She was sobbing. He looked up, seemed to see her again, and his face changed from anguished memory to concern for her. He got up so quickly that he knocked his chair over, went to her, put his arms around her a second time, and she was crying on his shoulder. And feeling guilty because he was the one who had been through all that and yet he was comforting her.

"I'm sorry, Niblet. Shouldn't have said so much. Talking about it brings it back, is all. Got carried away. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said so much..."

She pulled away and glared at him. "Yes, you should! I asked. I want to know. I just...the thought of you...and I didn't know."

"How exactly could you have known?" he asked while setting his chair upright again. The sound of it clattering had evidently woken the kittens, who had come over to investigate. One of them - the black one, Christina - jumped up onto William's shoulder as he sat down again. The other one, the grey one - Dante - came over to Dawn, sniffed at her curiously, then jumped up onto her lap. She petted him and he purred. Christina purred and nuzzled William's ear, then jumped down onto his lap. He petted her. She began to knead his trousers with small sharp claws. He muttered "Ow" but didn't stop her. "Do you know why they do that?" he asked Dawn. "See, when they're nursing, they do that to help the milk flow. Later on, makes them feel secure."

She remembered her mother telling her that. Back before Dad had left and taken the cat with him. Of course, the memory was fake - she'd never met either her father or the cat in reality - but she'd stopped caring about that. It felt real.

She took another sip of her tea. "So what happened next? And no editing. I can deal."

He went on, continuing to pet Christina as he spoke. "I woke up in hospital. It was weeks later. I was in bad shape. And - I had a visitor. Rosemary. She had been the one who hit me with the car. Wasn't her fault, of course - I ran right out in front of it, delirious and all. But she felt terrible. She'd been the one to call an ambulance. She'd gone with me to hospital. She was wealthy and well-connected and she thought I'd get better treatment if someone was looking out for me than if they thought I was just a random homeless bloke. She waited the entire time I was in Casualty - you know, the Emergency Room. And the first thing I remember clearly, after the accident, weeks later, was her visiting me.

"And she'd worked a few things out. See, her husband's father was a Watcher. Her husband, Arthur, was supposed to be one, too, but he refused. He thought killing vampires was wrong. Thought vampires ought to have rights too. Refused to have anything to do with the Watchers. But when the First started killing off all the Watchers they could find, they killed Arthur, too. Didn't care that he wasn't a part of it.

"Rosemary was American - grew up in New York City. But she moved to England when she was in her twenties, and married Arthur, and they lived together in England, in Cambridge, for 37 years. Also lived in Africa for several years – they were both zoologists. Lived in Botswana. Studied lions."

Christina continued to purr on his lap. Dante continued to purr on hers.

"A few months after Arthur was killed, Rosemary decided to go back to America. Back to New York City. She was almost finished putting her affairs in England in order when I ran out in front of her car.

"Rosemary was a witch. A very powerful witch. After the accident, she had a feeling about me. And then, when she first visited me, and I was still delirious, some of the things I said – it got her thinking. She and Arthur had had some records that no one on the Watchers' Council knew they had. And she had lots of connections. She did some digging, and she worked out who I was, and what had happened. She couldn't work out how I'd become human again, but she knew it was - unprecedented. So she decided to stay in England for a while more.

"I was in hospital for months. In bad shape. Lot of pain. Very ill. And at first, I couldn't remember much. Concussion. A good thing: by the time I started to remember again, I knew enough not to tell the doctors the truth about what I remembered. Might have wound up in an asylum..." He shuddered. "I hate hospitals. They remind me of... I hate them. I was scared. Confused. In pain and no idea what was happening. Rosemary was an anchor. She helped me get through it.

"When they finally let me out of hospital - the accident was at the beginning of July, and they let me out in October - Rosemary took me home with her. Took care of me while I recovered.

"Recovery took a long time. Lot of physiotherapy. And I was on antibiotics for a year. I'd tested positive for consump...tuberculosis. My Mum...my Mum was dying of tuberculosis..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Guess I would have died of it, too, if I hadn't been turned. Anyway...I couldn't do much, for a long time. Rosemary and me - talked. I couldn't do much else. She was making a quilt. I helped her. Reminded me of when I used to help my Mum. And - we talked. Rosemary... Rosemary helped me. Listened. Helped me sort my memories. Helped me with...all of it."

"Rosemary also helped me get used to the modern world. Because, the odd thing was: as my memories came back, the memories of my life as a human, before I was turned, felt more recent than my memories of my life as a vampire. It's like - there's a line in _A Tale of Two Cities_, you know, where Sydney Carton asks Mr. Lorry if his childhood seems far away. And Mr. Lorry replies that if he'd asked twenty years ago he would have said yes, but that as he gets old, it's like completing a circle, and his childhood feels closer to him than midlife.

"It's like that, for me. My life as a vampire feels like it happened a long time ago. And everything that happened when I was human, before I was turned - that feels like the recent past. Stuff that happened when I was five years old feels closer in time than...than Sunnydale."

She drew in a sharp breath. He finally looked up at her. She knew she ought to just listen to the rest of the story, but she couldn't help asking - and she couldn't keep the accusation out of her voice, "Is that why you didn't contact us? We seem like just a dream to you?"

"It isn't like that. It doesn't feel like a dream. It feels like a memory of a long time ago."

"So we're ancient history now."

"No!" Christina had fallen asleep on his lap, but now she woke up, startled. She jumped down off his lap, and trotted out of the room, offended. Dante slept on in Dawn's lap. "It's not like that. It doesn't make it - it doesn't make _you_ \- matter any less. Something that happened a long time ago can be more important than something that happened recently, right? And it wasn't because of that, that I didn't contact you. It was other things..."

"What other things?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted. Go on."

"It was...as I recovered - I felt out of place. Out of time. My life as a human seemed closer to me than my un-life as a vampire. The nineteenth century seemed closer than the twentieth. I felt like I had to learn to live in the modern world all over again. I'd never seen it in sunlight. And recovering took so long. I felt so weak. So helpless. And so unsure of everything.

"I wasn't sure, being human - I wasn't sure if I was the same person, yeah? Everything was different. I guess your body affects you more than you realize. The way my body reacts to everything... I mean - as a human - I get a little queasy at the sight of blood."

"WHAT?"

"I really do. It's weird. I can remember how it felt to be a vampire. I can remember the way I reacted when I saw or smelled blood then. I can remember how it felt - but now my body is different. So I react differently. And it's not just blood. It's everything. I'm still the same person. I just react differently to things."

She thought about that. "Kind of like how, when you're eight, the kissing scenes in a movie are boring and gross, but when you're fourteen, the kissing scenes are the best part?"

"Yeah. Kind of like that."

"Okay." She paused for a moment. "I can understand why you didn't contact us at first. But why not after you recovered?"

"I was scared."

"Of what?"

He was looking at the floor again. "I'm so different, as a human. I wouldn't be any use in a fight. I miss fighting, you know - I remember how exhilarating it was. But...I'm...kind of a coward and a weakling as a human. Couldn't imagine I'd be of any use to anyone. Especially...Buffy."

"So you thought Buffy would think you're less of a man or something? That's ridiculous!"

If you could bore a hole in linoleum by staring at it, his floor would have been swiss cheese by now. "Kind of ruin it, y'know? I mean...I died a hero. Went out in a blaze of glory. Kind of ruin the effect to come crawling back as a ninety-eight pound weakling."

She pushed Dante off her lap - he protested loudly and then left the room in a huff - and stood up. "You are a selfish bastard!"

"What?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might love you and need you regardless of whether or not you can fight? Did it ever occur to you that you're the closest thing I have to a brother? Did it ever occur to you that I missed you so much I sometimes wished I'd never been made human so I wouldn't have to hurt so much? Did it ever occur to you? Did it? And Buffy! She was devastated when you died! She was in love with you! And you were so worried about being remembered as a goddamn HERO that you couldn't act like a decent PERSON!" She was crying again – tears of rage.

He stood up and yelled back. "Dammit, Niblet, you KNOW I love you! You KNOW it! And if you don't know, you're an idiot! But I needed some time alone! I needed it! I needed to find out who I am as a human being, without input from the sodding Scoobies! I needed to find out what I wanted for myself, not what your sister wants from me! I knew if I went back, all weak and scared, I'd just wind up turning into her sodding puppet! I needed some goddamn TIME!" He was trembling. "I'm sorry, Niblet. If I could have contacted you, I would. But I couldn't ask you to keep a secret like that from Buffy. And I wasn't ready to see her. I knew if I saw her once, I wouldn't be able to stay away. I needed time. I'm sorry, Niblet. I'm so sorry."

She got it, then. Because she had done the same thing. She had deliberately chosen a college as far away from Buffy as possible. Because she had wanted to find out who she was, alone. Who she was when she wasn't a Key that had been made from the blood (created in the image?) of her powerful sister. She'd wanted to find out who she was when she was just Dawn Summers, not Buffy's little sister.

That's all he'd wanted, too, then. To be his own person.

She sat down again, and he sat down again, and she told him, that she got it. She told him why. Then she looked at him and realized something for the first time. "We're a lot alike, aren't we, Will?"

"That we are, Niblet. That we are."

They sat in silence for a while. A bird sang – it must have been right outside the window. She wondered if there was a nest on the window ledge.

Finally she asked, softly, "Where do we go from here?"

He laughed. She hadn't expected that. He picked up a napkin and threw it at her. She ducked. He laughed again. She laughed too. Then he said, "It's getting late. Are you hungry? I could throw something together."

"'Kay."

He got up and went to the fridge and opened it. "Pasta and vegetables okay?"

"Yeah. I'm, ah...a vegetarian."

"Me too."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah. Figured I have enough blood on my hands."

"Oh."

"But the cats need meat. Little predators, they are." He closed the fridge, got out two cans of cat food, one labeled for kittens, the other for "mature" cats, and started to open them. Within moments Christina and Dante appeared, and another cat, a large tabby. "That's Merlin," he explained unnecessarily. "Little monsters can hear a can opener a mile off."

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Being a vampire. Being able to hear better than a cat. Super-senses and super-strength and all that."

"Sometimes. Yeah, I miss it. Sometimes. But – like I said – it seems like a long time ago, now."

"So – what did you do? After you recovered and all?"

He finished feeding the cats and washed his hands before answering. "Rosemary had a lot of connections. She basically adopted me. Got me a fake birth certificate that said I was her son, and Arthur's son. They'd never had any children. And since she was an American citizen, and Arthur was British – I got dual citizenship. My birth certificate says I was born in Cambridge, England in 1977, to Rosemary and Arthur Hallows.

"So – you must have their name, now. No more Whitethorn?"

"I didn't want to lose my Mum's name, so took it as a middle name. William Whitethorn Hallows, now."

"It's a nice name."

"Thanks."

"When did you decide to go back to William?"

"Right off. It just felt...more _me_, y'know? I mean, it just feels more...right. Actually I...I... always thought of myself as William. Even when I was a vampire. Would never have admitted it, of course. But that's how I thought of myself. Deep down."

"I knew that."

He looked truly astonished. "How?"

"I dunno. Just knew."

He looked at her with that expression of his - love and awe and tenderness and a kind of reverence. She'd missed him so much.

After a moment he turned away, and got out a chopping board, and took vegetables out of the fridge, and got out a wicked-looking chef's knife, and started to chop.

"Can I help?"

"You're a guest!"

"I could still help." She got up.

"Sit!"

She sat.

"So – what happened next?"

"Rosemary was moving back to New York City. She'd grown up here. In this apartment, actually. Her family had had it since the twenties. Asked me if I wanted to go with her.

"So I did. Got a job as a bartender. Only really transferable skill I had, y'know? Did that for a while. Then, a friend of Rosemary's who owns the restaurant where I work now needed someone to help in the kitchen. I did a bit of that, found I liked it. 'M pretty good at it, too." He chopped vegetables as he spoke. He chopped like a professional. She really couldn't have helped much.

"You lived here?"

"For a while. Then got my own place – tiny little place in Queens. Long commute. But it was mine – first time, as a human, that I was on my own. Paying my own way, y'know."

"And then?"

He stopped chopping. "Rosemary got sick."

"You said – she had cancer?" _Just like Mom._

"Yeah. Breast cancer. She had, you know, chemotherapy. It helped. For a while. Made her so sick though..." He looked down at the floor again.

"You took care of her."

"Yeah. Moved back here, to help. Then, she was in remission, for a while. And then - it came back. And they said the chances that more chemo would help were very small. And...she decided...she decided not to have more chemo. Said that she wanted to enjoy the time she had left. She said...that the thing that was most important to her, more important than staying alive, was being herself. Being who she was. And that...if she spent her last months in and out of hospital, that wouldn't be Rosemary. We argued about it. We argued a lot. And finally, she got angry, and she said...she said...she said..." his voice dropped to a whisper. "She said that if she tried to prolong her life, it would feel like...like losing her soul."

Something clicked in Dawn's mind then. The shadow in his eyes whenever he'd talked about his Mum. _Oh, God. His Mum. He must have turned his Mum to save her. Only he didn't save her, he destroyed her. God._

He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor. "So...she had always wanted to go to the Galapagos islands. Never had gone. Asked me to go with her. We went. She was so happy. And – she died there. The way she wanted to. The way she had lived.

"There was a poet she loved – Mary Oliver. Had one of her poems done up in calligraphy for me, when I was recovering from the accident. Called 'Wild Geese' – thought it said something I needed to hear. But her favorite was a poem called 'When Death Comes' - and her favorite line was 'When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement' – and I...I put that on her gravestone: 'A bride married to amazement' – because that's what she was..." and he was crying. Really crying. And she was too. They held each other, and cried.

And finally they stopped, and he kissed the top of her head, and laughed, and said, "We certainly have gone all out with the waterworks today, haven't we Niblet?"

And she nodded, and laughed too, and said, "I'm REALLY hungry now!"

And he went back to chopping the vegetables.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn tells William about the past five years of her life. William offers to let Dawn live with him while she goes to journalism school.

**Tuesday, June 10, 2008**

 

"I can throw something together," he'd said. Hah. This was the best meal she'd had in - actually she couldn't remember when she'd had anything this good. She told him so. He tried to brush it aside, but couldn't manage to hide how much it pleased him. Good.

She told him about her life, over dinner.

She told him about that first hard year after he'd died, with all the relics of her fabricated childhood buried beneath the Sunnydale crater, the Scoobies dispersed throughout the world, and Buffy distant and depressed. He looked stricken, but he didn't say anything. He just kept listening, and she just kept talking.

She told him about going to college and getting a fresh start. She told him about the courses she'd taken and the friends she'd made and the jobs she'd had. She told him about her first boyfriend and how that had ended (not well) (William, of course, was outraged on her behalf). She told him about getting interested in journalism, and the articles she'd written, and the awards she'd won (William, of course, was thrilled on her behalf). She told him about getting into Columbia, and how excited she was.

She told him about graduation. And about arriving in New York City - yesterday. And - she suddenly realized how late it must be. It had grown dark - he'd put a light on back while she was telling him about that sadistic chemistry professor her freshman year, and that was at least an hour ago.

He realized what she was thinking. "Where are you staying, Niblet?" he asked.

"A youth hostel."

"The one on 103rd and Amsterdam?"

"Yeah."

"Would you rather stay here?"

Actually, that would be very nice. She suddenly felt exhausted. It had been quite a day. And the thought of another subway ride and then spending the night in a room with nine other women wasn't terribly appealing. "It's too late to cancel my reservation."

"I'll pay for it."

She started to protest and he cut her off. "It's the least I can do. Where's your luggage?"

"Oh, I just brought the backpack. Didn't seem to make sense to bring too much, until I've found a place to live."

"You were planning on staying at the hostel until you found a place to live?"

"Well, yeah."

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. "Okay, okay. It's - well, see - Columbia Journalism school is a ten-month program -it starts the very beginning of August. So it would be hard to get a real summer job - I'd have to leave it at the end of July. And it's a really intensive program - they say you can't work part-time during it. I worked all through college, but I guess I can't next year. So, Buffy's living in London right now and she asked if I wanted to stay with her for a few weeks, take a break before starting journalism school. I said yes. But - we kind of, um, had a big fight. See - she and Giles paid for my college, and..." William looked puzzled and she explained, "They finally started paying Buffy for Slaying and all."

"About bloody time," he muttered.

"Yeah, well. Anyway...she and Giles paid for my college. Tuition, that is. I paid for my own room and board. And they're going to pay for journalism school, too. And since I can't work and New York's so expensive, Buffy suggested I live with a bunch of Slayers next year. See, the Watchers' Council owns property all over the world and there's Slayers everywhere now, and Buffy thought I could live with some of the ones in New York. And it sounded like a good idea, but after a few weeks living with Buffy - I hadn't lived with her for a while, and - I just can't stand living with Slayers. It's not my world. It's hers. And - I had a big fight with Buffy and I told her that I don't need her money and I got a plane ticket and flew to New York City and now I need to find a job and a place to live. On my own." _And I'm realizing now that it was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life. And I've done a lot of stupid things._ She looked at William defiantly.

He looked at her without saying anything for a minute. Then he muttered, "Bloody hell," and got up and started clearing the table.

"You think it was stupid, don't you?" she asked. He didn't answer. Probably because she was so tired she found herself adding petulantly, "You used to always be on _my_ side."

He turned and looked at her with such tenderness that she almost cried. Again. "I _am_ on your side, Niblet. And I don't think it was stupid. Or maybe it was - but it's the same kind of stupid that I am. I'd likely have done the exact same thing. We're a lot alike, as you said." He paused. "But - "

"But you think I don't know what I've gotten myself into," she finished for him. "Yeah, I know. One day in this city, a look at the prices - kind of made me realize that. I guess - I'm probably going to have to go crawling back to Buffy. Ugh. Either that or take out a very large student loan. And I don't want to have to do that."

He seemed extremely interested in his wine glass. "Or," he said, "you could stay here."

"You mean until I find someplace cheap?"

"No. I mean until you graduate. There is no 'cheap' in New York City."

"For - for how much rent?"

"For _no_ rent."

"I couldn't possibly - "

"Look, Niblet, I own this place. Rosemary left it to me. I couldn't possibly afford it otherwise. She helped me out. I'd like to help you out."

"But I couldn't - "

"This place is too big for one person. Has three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Practically a palace by New York City standards."

"But - "

"You can have the bathroom that doesn't have the cat litter in it." He said it so earnestly that she almost laughed.

"But I couldn't -"

He scowled at her. "You said I'm the closest thing you have to a brother. Buffy and Giles are allowed to pay for your education, but I'm not allowed to do this for you?" _Definitely a challenge there._

She was too tired to deal with this. She tried to think of a coherent reply, and found herself rubbing her eyes instead.

He softened as he realized, "You're still on English time."

"Yeah. And I didn't get much sleep last night, either."

"You should get some sleep, Niblet. You don't have to decide anything tonight."

"I have to call the hostel and tell them I won't be coming." She got out her cell phone. William went to make up a bed for her. When she turned her cell phone on - she'd turned it off earlier - there was a text message. From Buffy. Great. She had sent Buffy a text message with the name and address of the hostel - to avert Slayer search parties being sent after her. _Please tell me she didn't call the hostel to check on me._ No, thank god. Buffy asked her to please call. She wanted to talk.

Dawn called the hostel. Then, she sent a text message to Buffy. "I'll call you tomorrow." she wrote. She hesitated, and then added, "Love, Dawn." She turned off the cell phone and put it away. That would be an interesting conversation. _"Hi, Buffy Guess what? I found a place to live in New York City! For free! And - it's with Spike! Did I mention that he's alive? And human?"_ Yeah. That would be fun.

Not tonight, though. Too tired.

 

*

 

But she found she couldn't sleep right away. She lay in the dark, listening to the sounds of the city through the open window. It had been sunny this afternoon, but it had clouded over after sundown, and now it was raining. Outdoors, the rain fell over the streets and buildings and light and people of Manhattan. Here, in this room, she was warm and dry and safe.

The streetlights made patterns on the ceiling. She held up her hands, as she sometimes did alone at night. Was it her imagination that they seemed to glow green?

William had been a human, and then a demon, and now he was human again. She had been pure energy, and now she was human. But sometimes - sometimes she _felt_ like the Key. In dark and quiet places, like this room. Sometimes she could almost touch the other dimensions that she had once been used to unlock. Sometimes it seemed like far-away voices she couldn't quite hear. (Not that she would have told anyone else that - would have made her sound insane.) Like the sounds of the city around her, kept at bay by protective walls. Out there, whispering. On a rainy night, full of mystery.

She sat up and turned on the light. This had been Rosemary's childhood room, William had said. It was a beautiful room. She had noticed the children's books on the bookshelves.

She looked at the books. Some of them were books she remembered from her own childhood - though her copies were gone, lost in the rubble of Sunnydale. One caught her eye: _The Saturdays_, by Elizabeth Enright. She picked it up and opened it. There was an inscription: "Happy Birthday to Rosemary with love from Mother" - and it was dated 1945.

She remembered her own mother reading this book out loud to her. How old had she been? Eight? Of course it hadn't really happened. Yet - it had.

Had Rosemary's mother read it to her, too? She felt an odd sense of connection to a girl she had never known, who had grown into a woman she had never known. But - William was family to her, and Rosemary was family to him - did that make Rosemary family to her, too?

She opened the book and began to read. At the end of the fourth paragraph of the first chapter she found words she remembered - they had seemed so foreign to her, as a child in Los Angeles, but she had loved them:

_All the city sounds that could be heard above the rain were wet sounds; the long whish of passing automobiles, damp clopping of horses' hoofs, and the many voices, deep, or high, or husky, that came hooting and whistling out of the murky rivers at either side of the city._

She stopped reading and put the book away. She sat thinking for a while, petting Merlin, who had chosen to sleep with her. Then she turned the light back off, and lay down again, and fell asleep listening to Merlin purring and the voices of the city and the rain, and feeling a strange sense of homecoming.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn's dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The repeated-with-variations phrase "I don't want to end up simply having visited this world" is the last line of Mary Oliver's poem "When Death Comes."
> 
> The words "it seemed that she had become inseparable from the dragon's wings" allude to the last four lines of Mary Oliver's poem "Gannets."
> 
> Both poems are quoted in full on my livejournal profile page: http://green-maia.livejournal.com/profile

**Wednesday, June 11, 2008**

 

She dreamed of the dragon. She had often dreamed of the dragon. She remembered the way the great serpent had screamed as he fell from the sky as though cast forth from heaven. She had often wondered what had become of him, after the portal had closed, and he had been trapped in a dimension not his own.

She walked with him through a forest. She put her hand on his long neck, steadying him when he stumbled. "You have a body now," she told him. Her hand glowed green.

 

*

 

She dreamed of the tower. The portals opened. The dragon fell from the sky. "It has to have the blood," she told Buffy. "It has to have the blood."

"Kill the dragon," said Buffy.

"I can't," she said.

"You must," said Buffy.

She turned to the dragon. He was tied with such fine ropes. If only he had been strong enough to break free.

"Shallow cuts," she said.

"It's alright," said the dragon. "I understand. But I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."

"You won't have," she promised as she cut him. "You'll live."

 

*

 

She walked alone through the streets of Sunnydale. It was deserted. She carried a baby. She came to her home. She climbed the stairs to the porch. She entered the house. William was in the kitchen. She handed the baby to him and turned away.

 

*

 

She sat with the dragon, looking up at the stars. "I miss my home," said the dragon.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"The mother will die for the child," he said, and flew away. She watched him until he disappeared among the stars.

 

*

 

She dreamed of the tower. She tugged at the ropes to no avail.

"It has to have the blood," she told Buffy.

"You cheated," said Glory.

"You don't belong here," said Drusilla.

"I made a promise to a lady," said Spike.

"I don't want to end up simply having visited this world," said her mother.

 

*

 

She came to her childhood home in Los Angeles. She wandered alone through the rooms. Giles was in the kitchen. "No one will ever know, will they?" she asked him.

"No," he said. "No one will ever know."

 

*

 

She walked again through the streets of Sunnydale. This time she carried a young child. She came to her home. She climbed the stairs to the porch. She entered the house. William was in the kitchen. She handed the little girl to him and turned away.

 

*

 

The dragon was beside her on the tower. "The mother will die for the child," he said.

"Please don't," she begged.

"I must," he said. "I am the Key." He ran to the edge of the tower and dove into the light.

 

*

 

She walked through the cemetery with Tara. They sat by Buffy's grave. Tara picked flowers and made a wreath for her.

"They're inseparable from the body," said Tara. "Energy can be neither created nor destroyed. It can only be transformed."

She put the wreath in her hair.

 

*

 

She walked through the streets of London. It was raining. She carried a young man. She put him down. He was dead. She cradled him in her arms. She wept.

She picked him up and carried him again. The dragon waited for them.

"The mother will die to give life to the child," the dragon said.

The young man became a newborn in her arms. She put him down. She kissed him on the forehead. "Take care of them for me, William," she said.

"The King of Cups always takes care of the little ones," said Drusilla.

"They're heavy," said William. He carried three children.

"Kill the dragon," said Buffy.

"No," she said. "He's going to eat me. I want to have wings, you see."

"Don't be afraid," said William. "I've been eaten. I didn't want to end up simply having visited this world."

"I ate him," said the dragon. "He fed me."

"You can eat me now," she said. "You've fed me long enough."

"Come along, then," said the dragon.

"But no one will ever know," she said.

"I'll know, Niblet," said William. "You haven't simply visited this world."

"Kill the dragon," said Buffy.

"Let the dragon eat you," said William.

"I haven't simply visited this world," she said.

She climbed on the dragon's back and they rose up from the pavement together, and as they flew it seemed that she had become inseparable from the dragon's wings.

 

 

 

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn and William talk about Buffy and the Scoobies.

**Wednesday, June 11, 2008**

 

She awakened slowly, moving upwards through the waters of her mind until she broke through to the air of the darkened room.

She felt as though she had been asleep for a very long time and was surprised to find Merlin still sleeping beside her. It was still raining outside. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. The digital display glowed green. 3:07 a.m.

She felt as though she ought to remember something. But she was too tired. Cold and tired, as though her body's warmth had been completely drained. And yet...strangely peaceful. She unfolded the extra blankets and cuddled up to Merlin. He purred as she fell asleep again.

The second time she awoke the rain had stopped and Merlin was gone. She looked at the clock. 7:30 a.m. Maybe it was afternoon in London, but...

The third time she awoke it was nearly ten and she finally felt rested. She lay in bed for a few minutes feeling warm and happy. Then she remembered that she had to call Buffy today. She got up.

 

*

 

When she went into the kitchen William was making strawberry pancakes. He'd gone to the Farmer's Market early and found the first strawberries of the season, and was nearly dancing with enthusiasm over them. Dawn thought that it was a good thing that Spike had never been in Angel's situation with the soul: it didn't take much to make him happy.

She did hope, though, that he wasn't making pancakes because he felt obligated; she would have been happy with cold cereal. But he told her that he really enjoyed it. "To misquote Ratty in _The Wind in the Willows_: there is nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about in the kitchen. I'm just lucky to be able to earn my living from it."

That reminded her that today was a normal working day – a Wednesday, in fact. Had it really been only two days ago that she'd gotten on the plane in London? It seemed like years had gone by since then. "Do you have to work today?" she asked.

"No. The restaurant is small. We're open Thursdays through Sundays, for dinner only. I work 2 p.m. to midnight those days."

"That's a long day. Must be tiring."

"It is. But it's nice having three days a week to myself."

"So you're free today?"

He flipped a pancake and looked uncomfortable. "Well...I do have...something...this afternoon."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked. Okay, that was both out of left field and completely not her business. But she had wondered about it, and she was curious.

William looked surprised. "What? No. I..."

"What then?" She knew she was being dreadfully nosy. But when had Dawn Summers ever not been nosy? She'd been ferreting out information that was none of her business as far back as she could remember. Sometimes she wondered if the monks had made her that way for a reason other than driving Buffy around the bend.

William looked both embarrassed and annoyed. "I work in a soup kitchen, okay? No need to make a thing of it." He glared at her as though daring her to laugh.

For a moment she wasn't quite sure why he was embarrassed. Then she realized that she was probably the first person he'd met since becoming human again who had known him as a vampire. It _was_ strikingly different from his Big Bad image.

She was careful not to even imply amusement as she nodded casually and said, "I did that in college."

He relaxed a little as he turned his attention back to the pancakes. After a moment's silence he said softly, "It's just...I've been there myself, y'know?"

He stole a shy glance at her as though to gauge her reaction. She nodded.

After another minute of focus on the pancakes he added, even more softly, "And – I've eaten enough people in my time. Makes sense to feed 'em now."

Dawn had an odd moment of deja vu. That reminded her of...something. But she didn't take the time to try and remember what it was. She wanted to reassure William that she respected and admired him as a human.

"You're a good man, William," she said. His head shot up and he gave her a piercing look which puzzled her. He was probably surprised by the cliche-ish-ness of it. Yeah, it was a dumb thing to say. But it had gotten the point across. She asked if she could help with the breakfast preparations, and he let her help, and everything was comfortable again.

 

*

 

Fifteen minutes later, when the pancakes were done and they had sat down at the table and started to eat, she wrecked the comfortableness. She mentioned that she had to call Buffy today. William choked on a bite of pancake. "W- What are you going to tell her?"

"What do you want me to tell her?"

"I couldn't ask you to keep it secret from her."

"It would be a bit hard if I'm living with you."

"She has to know. But you shouldn't have to – I could – "

"I don't mind telling her.

He looked like he was about ready to bolt from the room. Obviously, he still had feelings for Buffy. Well, in her omniscient younger sister opinion, Buffy still had feelings for him, too. She felt an odd hope rising. He and Buffy were the closest thing she had to parents. If there was a chance...

He hadn't asked, but maybe he was afraid to. "She's not seeing anyone," she informed him.

He looked more miserable rather than less. Why wasn't that good news to him?

Oh.

_Buffy, sobbing in her arms. "I told him that I loved him, Dawnie. I told him that I loved him, and he didn't believe me!"_

She was well aware that she was yet again meddling in things that were none of her business. But...surely it would be better for both of them if at least they had the same information? If they didn't get back together because they were wrong for each other, that was one thing. But if they didn't get back together because of a misunderstanding...she couldn't bear that.

She made a decision. "She meant it, you know."

He looked confused.

"She meant it when she told you she loved you." She regarded him fiercely. He looked away.

_Don't you dare disbelieve me. Not after you left me to cope with her broken heart._

_No, not just broken heart. Broken soul. And it wasn't his fault._

He didn't answer for a minute. Then he said, still not looking at her, "Even if that's true...that was a long time ago."

"Five years." Oh, wait, it seemed like more than that to him, didn't it? "Or, I guess – longer for you."

He didn't say anything.

"And you still love her."

"Yes." He said it so softly that she had to strain to hear.

"I think she still loves you too."

"Maybe she loves what I was. But I'm so different now."

"She's different too. She's changed a lot." _Healed a lot. Not entirely. But a lot._ She'd told him last night about Buffy's depression in the year after he'd died, and she'd told him that Buffy was fine now – but she hadn't told him the source of her recovery. "She had a couple of years of counseling. Saw a psychologist who knows about the demon world and all. He said Buffy had severe post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I could have told 'em that."

"Well, yeah. But the point is, she's worked a lot of stuff out. And you have too. You're both different, and –"

"I'm different in a bigger way than psychotherapy."

"- and maybe you can get to know each other again."

_"Straighten up their mess with togetherness..." Geez, Dawn. Indulging your Parent Trap fantasies._ Pity the monks hadn't thought to make her an identical twin.

William was quiet for a while and then said, "She's going to be furious with me for not contacting her."

"Well, yeah."

His hand had gone to his nose as though to shield it. Oh. His experience with Buffy's anger was different from hers...

She took a deep breath. "She told us what she did to you."

"She WHAT?"

"About a year after you died. We had a Scooby reunion thing, and Buffy sat us all down and told us about...about...that she had...that she...that she...abused you. She told us about...about...like that...that time at her birthday party when you were so beat up and you told us that you'd run into a demon but Buffy told us that it was her and - "she babbled on nonsensically, even though she knew from the storm of emotions on William's face that she ought to stop. " – and she feels awful about it, and everybody kind of realized, you know, that, you know..."

"Canonized me, did you lot? Scooby College of Cardinals decided that since Spike was out of the picture it was safe to officially declare him to have been an actual PERSON? Takes such conviction, that. I'm touched."

_So, the snarkiness wasn't entirely from the demon._

"I don't think you're being fair. The Scoobies aren't a hive mind..."

"They were at one point."

"Whatever. Willow was always nice to you and you know it. And Xander had issues too and he's worked a lot out and I think you guys have a lot in common and you could be friends if you gave each other a chance. And Giles admitted he was wrong and he feels bad about – "

"-trying to KILL me-"

"-yeah, well, he says he's sorry."

"And Giles is an honorable man."

Dawn was starting to get mad now. "You know, Buffy has her flaws, but there's one thing she never does. She never, ever, holds a grudge. And that's a lot more than can be said for you."

His eyes widened. "Touche, Niblet. You're entirely right." But he didn't start eating again – he hadn't taken a bite since she mentioned calling Buffy – he just pushed a bit of pancake around on the plate and chewed on his lower lip.

Dawn wondered at the intensity of his reaction. It seemed like the big deal to him wasn't really with the Scoobies as a group – it was with Giles. Sunnydale seemed longer ago to him than his childhood did – so why was it still such a fraught issue for him?

She suddenly remembered the time that Willow's spell had wiped all their memories. Spike had assumed that Giles was his father. Not a coincidence, she realized. For some odd reason Giles had been a father-figure to Spike, and though Spike would never have admitted it, he had longed for Giles' approval. He must have felt deeply betrayed by Giles' actions.

And now...it seemed like William's adoption by Rosemary had helped him resolve his Mommy issues, but maybe he still hungered for a father figure.

"William...how old were you when your father died?"

He looked up, surprised, "What? Two."

Yup. Made sense.

William, though, wanted to change the subject. "What's Willow doing now?"

"She's finishing her doctorate at Berkeley. And she met a woman named Rebecca, and they got married last year."

William's face lit up. "That's great!"

"And Xander met a slayer named Zoe and they got married a year ago. They live in San Francisco, so they're close to Willow and Rebecca."

William started eating again, and for the rest of breakfast Dawn filled him in on the lives of the Scoobies. He wanted to hear every detail. After all, he did love soap operas.


End file.
